Sick Day
by obsessedwithstabler
Summary: John is sick, Sherlock has to run the household, and it's Monday. What else could go wrong?


My first attempt at writing Sherlock on my own. I absolutely love ParentLock, and I hope everyone enjoys this story!

Disclaimer: Not mine!

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"Daddy!"

Sherlock Holmes absolutely hated when his husband was sick. It was Monday morning, Lestrade had just called with a very tempting case, and John was currently bundled under three comforters with a high-grade fever and nausea. Hamish and Elizabeth had been sick the week before and as much as Sherlock scolded John, John let the kids stay in his face constantly, even though they both had been sent home from school Wednesday afternoon for fevers and vomiting. The result? The children were perfectly healthy and John was sicker than Sherlock had ever seen him.

"Hamish has a parent teacher conference tonight, and don't forget to pick up Lizzie from preschool at noon," John called out from under the covers as Sherlock searched for a clean shirt.

"I'm not going to forget our daughter at school," Sherlock protested indignantly as he finally found a clean purple shirt and put it on.

A snicker came followed by a harsh cough. "Of course not, Sher."

"I won't!"

The bedroom door suddenly flew open. Hamish barreled in, his messy hair falling into his piercing blue eyes. Elizabeth was right behind him, her shoes on the wrong feet and her arms wrapped tightly around a stuffed doll Molly had given her when she was two years old. Her blond curls bounced and she giggled with childish abandon.

Putting his hands on his hips, Sherlock looked down at his children. "What are you two doing in here? I told you Daddy is sick and needs peace and quiet."

"They're not bothering me, Sherlock," John insisted from underneath his covers.

"You are not helping," Sherlock shot back. He leaned over and grabbed Elizabeth up, tucking her beneath his arm. Then he took Hamish's hand and tried to ignore his daughter's squeals and pleas to put her down. "Come along, children. I'll make breakfast."

Hamish looked up questioningly. "But you can't cook, Papa!"

"Thanks for your overwhelming confidence, Hamish." He tightened his grip on Elizabeth and shooed Hamish out of the room. "Get some sleep, love. I'll be back to check on you after I drop our prodigy off at school."

John laughed as Sherlock pulled the door shut and carried Elizabeth into the kitchen. Without too much effort, he was able to retrieve frozen waffles from the freezer and heat them up in the toaster. But as soon as he placed them in front of Elizabeth, she started to wail. Startled, he waved a hand in front of her.

"Elizabeth, what has gotten into you?"

Hamish looked up from his own waffles. "You have to put peanut butter on hers."

Stunned, Sherlock did as the eight year old instructed. As soon as he applied the peanut butter to the waffles, Elizabeth dug into them with a delighted squeal. Sherlock let out a relieved breath, hoping this was the end of the morning's drama.

He was wrong.

After breakfast, he had to change Elizabeth's clothing and wash her face and hands. Then she wouldn't leave without three of her stuffed animals. He was able to negotiate with her until she only insisted upon taking her Molly bear with her. Then Hamish couldn't find his backpack; that was easy enough to solve. They found it in Elizabeth's toybox, along with John's slippers and a finger Sherlock had been missing from an experiment. He didn't have time to deal with it, so he ushered his children out of the flat and to their mini-van John had insisted on purchasing. He couldn't remember how to fasten Elizabeth's carseat, which prompted another meltdown from the toddler. Eventually Hamish intervened and fastened it for him before he climbed into his own seat and buckled himself in.

Once the children were secure, Sherlock drove to Hamish's school and dropped the boy off. Then he took Elizabeth to her daycare, where another temper tantrum had him covering his ears. Didn't this child ever wear herself out? The teacher smiled kindly and promised she would be fine, so he left, albeit reluctantly.

He arrived at the crime scene a half-hour later, only to receive a call from John, who needed more ginger ale and crackers. He added the items to his shopping list and left the crime scene, much to Lestrade's annoyance.

At the grocery store, several women eyed him as he struggled with which milk to buy and what particular brand of shoes Hamish needed for school. These were all things that John normally did, things Sherlock had taken for granted for years. No wonder John was always tired whenever Sherlock came home from solving whatever crime he had been asked to solve.

He finished shopping and loaded the groceries into the van, then drove back home only to unload the groceries and check on John before he had to go back to the preschool to pick up Elizabeth. He took her back home and began cooking dinner while she played in her bedroom. His cooking skills were nowhere near John's, but he was getting better. Tonight he had decided on spaghetti, a favorite of both his children. It was easy enough and when it was done, he had just enough time to turn off the appliances, get Elizabeth back into the van and go pick up Hamish.

Dinner was even more interesting than breakfast. Elizabeth only cried once, and Hamish and Sherlock agreed it was because she missed John. After dinner, he bathed Elizabeth and dried her hair, then dressed her in pink pajamas before he put her to bed. Then he helped Hamish with his homework before the boy took a shower and went to bed as well.

By the time it was ten o'clock, Sherlock was exhausted. He peeled his clothes off and took a brief shower, then grabbed his pajamas off the floor and put them on before he crawled into bed with John.

John yawned and rolled over, nuzzling into Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock kissed his head. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." His hoarse voice was muffled by the soft material of Sherlock's pajamas. "How are the children?"

"Fine, fine." He groaned when John's hand began stroking his abdomen. "Not tonight, love, I'm tired."

"That's my line," John declared indignantly.

"It's the truth. I thought today would be easy."

"You poor thing."

Growling, Sherlock rolled John onto his back and attacked his neck with kisses. "I'll show you poor thing…"

Just as Sherlock lost himself in John's kiss, the bedroom door opened and he groaned miserably as John shuffled out from beneath him.

"Papa, why are you wresslin' with Daddy?"

Sherlock buried his face in his pillow. "Because Papa needs a good wrestling match," he grumbled. He groaned when John jabbed his side.

"I had a bad dream." Elizabeth clambered onto the bed and settled between the two of them with her Molly bear. As he always did, John pulled her against his chest and kissed her sweetly.

"Go to sleep, love."

Punching his pillow, Sherlock rolled onto his back and looked at his husband. His face softened fractionally at the expression of love on John's face.

How could he want this any other way?

The End.


End file.
